Archive for the ‘Thailand’ Category

Shabba Ranks was sitting on the bed in his deluxe beachfront bungalow in Koh Phangan, Thailand, not knowing what to do with himself. There was a knock at the glass door at the rear of the building.

Ranks rose and padded towards the door in his towelling slippers. He could make out a small, squat figure through the frosted glass. It was still knocking; slowly and feebly. He opened the door.

It was what appeared to be a young girl, although she was very hard to age. Her face and hair were almost that of a middle-aged woman, but she was so small and childlike, she cannot possibly have been full-grown. Despite her diminutive stature, she was squat and dumpy. She made a strange moaning noise, not unlike a person who is extraordinarily drunk.

“Yeah?” enquired Shabba Ranks.

The girl moaned some more and then extended her palm. It was very dirty and Ranks instinctively took a step backwards. Was she diseased? Was that why she was acting so strangely?

The girl moaned again and lifted her palm slightly. Was she begging?

“What? What do you want?” asked Ranks.

Again the girl moaned and the Jamaican dancehall star grew frustrated. “Whatever you want, the answer’s no,” he spat.

The girl slowly lowered her hand, turned and staggered off. Ranks shivered and then closed and locked the door.

After three or four minutes, there was another knock – this time at the front door. Ranks was immediately suspicious, but he couldn’t ignore the person. Once again, he rose from the bed and padded towards the door.

Ranks turned the door handle and then before he could open it even a single inch, there was a huge force and it was knocked wide open. Ranks stumbled and looked up just in time to see a fist en route to the middle of his stupid, fat, homophobic face. For just one moment – perhaps less than a picosecond – he felt the soft texture of velvet, but that quickly gave way to far less pleasing sensations as splintering bone savaged the flesh of his nose.

Ranks sank to the floor like a recently-popped helium balloon. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he glimpsed a russet-coloured doublet, but he could have been mistaken.

A short time later, he awoke. No-one was there and he was aghast to discover that the bungalow no longer contained any cling film.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that all this happens a few years in the future when cling film has become a much sought-after commodity.

“What’s a swimming costume,” said Shakespeare, puzzled. “I swim in my underclothes. These are my underclothes.”

“Underclothes?” Ellis-Bextor looked like she had been exposed to a bad smell.

“Yes,” said Shakespeare.

Ellis-Bextor stared at the bard with a tense facial expression. Shakespeare stared back blanky, not comprehending what was going on. They were interrupted by the diving instructor.

“Oh, hello, that’s an outfit,” she said to Shakespeare.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, still looking at Ellis-Bextor and taking the instructor’s words as validation.

Ellis-Bextor’s eyes rolled backwards. They then appeared to knock her entire head in the same direction. When it bounced forwards again, it somehow expressed both resignation and despair.

“Let’s get down to the water,” said the instructor, cheerfully. “The others are already there.” Shakespeare strode after her, boldly. Ellis-Bextor trailed reluctantly.

As they were putting on their diving gear, Ellis-Bextor said quietly: “Please take the codpiece off. The rest of it will have to stay on now, but the codpiece has to go. Please. I really can’t put up with it.”

Shakespeare stopped what he was doing and looked at her earnestly. “I can. That’s fine. But I’m really surprised at you.”

He reached down to detach his codpiece and as he did so, the instructor moved along the line of diving novices and arrived at them. The movement caught her eye and she looked down in time to see the bard’s surprisingly hairy knob and bollocks being exposed to the world.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Ellis-Bextor.

“What?” shouted Shakespeare. “You told me to do this.”

“I didn’t know there was nothing under there. Why the hell is nothing under there?”

“Why the hell do you think I wear a codpiece? All my pairs of hose have an opening.”

Shakespeare threw the codpiece across the beach, embracing the liberty afforded his sexual parts. He planted his fists on his hips and admired himself.

Ellis-Bextor turned away and was a little surprised to see the diving instructor still taking a keen interest in the playwright’s nether regions.